Born of Shadows- Complete Series

by J. R. Erickson

  Chapter 5

  Abby woke with a single moan of terror. Her eyes flipped open to the empty room. She was alive, safe, in Sydney's bed. Her breath slowed, and she took in the golden dusk of the bedroom. The shades, only partially drawn, revealed the swiftly setting sun and its final glow before succumbing to the night. She sat up, tilted her head back and to each side, feeling the tiny creaks that had wedged from the morning's anxiety. Sydney's captain bed was tall, but a little wooden ladder butted to the side. She rolled over and crawled woozily down the steps.

  She sniffed at the air, noticing the first traces of something delectable. Her stomach snarled with yearning, and she realized that it had been nearly twenty-four hours since she had eaten.

  Her longing to look decent slightly outweighed her hunger and she hurried to the bathroom to survey the damage. Her hair, matted to the left side of her face, needed a brushing, and she scraped a toothbrush across her furry teeth, happy to remove a layer of film. She applied lip-gloss and tried to liven her red-rimmed brown eyes with a spot of mascara. She lingered for a moment before the mirror and stared.

  She felt foolish for caring. Nothing like a dead body to make everything else trivial, but Sebastian hovered in her mind. He was very attractive after all, albeit a bit strange, and though she didn't feel ready to even consider a new boyfriend, she didn't want to look like a swamp rat around him. With Nick, appearance had been easy. He liked plain, he liked when she wore long gray skirts and sweaters that her mother knitted, and it was not the kind of 'like' that came with accepting people as they were and loving them in sweats and all that nonsense. It was the 'like' derived from the security of having a conformist girlfriend who fit into the happy wife Jell-O mold of his life.

  In Sydney's closet, she found a pair of worn blue jeans, a gaping hole in the right kneecap, and struggled into them, grunting with the effort of dressing while only half awake.

  She dug through a pile of shirts, and her hand flicked over a pointed corner. She wrestled it free and found herself looking at the smiling faces of her mother and Sydney. The sisters must have been only sixteen or seventeen, but even then their distinct personalities were evident in their clothing choices. Abby's mother, Becky, wore tapered khakis that hung on her narrow waist and a crisp white blouse. Sydney was dressed in a purple velvet mini dress, the plunging neckline revealing her bronzed and perky cleavage. They stood, arms linked, in front of Sydney's car, a shiny, black Stingray Corvette that Sydney had gushed to Abby about on more than one occasion. Becky's smile was pinched and uncomfortable, her thin lips and horsey teeth almost homely next to Sydney's wide, red-lipped grin. In the background, Abby spotted her grandmother Arlene.

  Abby slipped the photo back into the clothes and pulled out a loose fitting gray cashmere sweater. Quickly yanking the sweater over her head, her stomach won the battle over beauty, and she lurched out of the room in search of dinner.

  The smell of spaghetti, a childhood favorite, pervaded the hallway as she hurried down the stairs.

  Sebastian whisked through the kitchen, humming along to an internal tune, a pink apron with pig ears tied snugly around his waist.

  She unsuccessfully muffled a laugh and he turned towards her.

  "Ah, she wakes." He grinned, holding a tomato-covered spatula in the air. "Sit, sit."

  He hurried around the counter and pulled out a stool.

  He didn't say anything about their strange and stunted conversation from earlier, and she was grateful.

  "I think you need a drink." He produced a crystal wineglass and poured her a hefty portion of red wine.

  "I don't think that's a serving," she mumbled, surveying the enormous goblet.

  "No, you're right." He filled the glass to the top and laughed, sliding it carefully across the counter to her. She had to bend down and sip from the edge to stop it from spilling over.

  He went back to his cooking, hustling around the kitchen to stir the sauce, examine the garlic bread and strain the noodles. She could see that he was a liberal garlic user and made a mental note to find mints.

  She sipped her wine, initially cringing at the bitter flavor as it hit her tongue. She did not often drink, but hoped that it might chase away the images bobbing on the surface of her thoughts.

  In the living room, the telephone rang, and Sebastian slipped away to answer it.

  "Abby, it's for you," he called.

  She groaned aloud, realizing that only two people would have thought to track her down at Sydney's - Nick and her mother.

  Sebastian held the phone out; she took it dubiously, her mind racing for an excuse.

  "Abby, is that you?" Nick's voice seethed through the line, and Abby flinched. Sebastian lingered.

  "Are you okay?" he mouthed, pointing at the receiver.

  She nodded meekly and started to speak, then thought better of it. Instead, she dropped the phone back into its cradle, shocked by her nerve. Before its shrill ring could start again, she reached back and unplugged the cord, shrugging her shoulders in response to Sebastian's questioning gaze.

  "Long story," she told him simply and returned to the kitchen, avoiding his stare.

  She settled back onto her stool and traced her fingers along the marbled counter top. Had she really just hung up on Nick?

  "So, how are you?" Sebastian asked, returning to the stove, his brows furrowed as if the spaghetti sauce had just become immensely more complex. He continued to stare into the metal pan, his spoon weaving in giant, sloppy circles.

  "I don't know," she sighed, pressing the wine glass to her warm forehead. "Shocked, a little sick."

  He nodded, but did not respond, choosing instead to don a massive crab claw oven mitt and pull out the garlic bread.

  She felt another wave of hunger, her stomach's growls giving way to a full-blown wail.

  "Whoa, we better feed that thing," he grinned, sliding the hot pan onto the counter.

  Her cheeks flushed and she took another sip of wine, deepening the flush and igniting a wave of lightheadedness.

  "This yours?" he asked, holding up the crab claw mitt.

  "No, thank you very much," she snapped, and reached for a scalding piece of garlic bread.

  "How about the porch?" Sebastian asked, while he scooped spaghetti onto massive dinner plates.

  She followed him out, and they set their plates on the round, glass patio table that stood in the center of Sydney's back porch.

  Night had fallen over the colossal lake sky, the spell of stars stretched hand in hand across the black heavens. The warm air, split by a faint breeze, washed the last of the sleep from her eyes. They ate in silence, the slowly lapping waves and frenzied crickets a musical backdrop that lulled them both into their thoughts.

  Abby thought of her parents and Nick. The probable conversations between her mother and Nick as they plotted her capture and return to captivity. Or perhaps that was too harsh. Nick was a person after all, a person who thought he'd found his future wife, a sensible girl who would accompany him to elegant law dinners and iron his button downs. The type of girl who would someday make a fine mother, wife, and not quite domestic servant. She knew that Nick imagined their wedding day, he could picture their unborn children, and he reveled in Sunday dinners with her parents.

  At that moment, she felt more disconnected from Nick than she ever had before. In only a day, her world had transformed. In spite of the fear nibbling gently at her mind, she felt hopeful, which quickly brought her thoughts around to the girl or the woman, whatever she was. Abby did not know how to distinguish the two, even for herself. Was she a girl? A girl, who listened to her mother, catered to her boyfriend and followed the lines carefully drawn in for her? Or a woman who turned her back on convention and ran like hell for whatever freedom she could find?

  Abby looked at the palm of her hand, the delicate crisscross of lines etched there. She'd heard of palm reading, dissecting a future through the length of lifelines and love lines. What did a murder look like on the palm of a ha
nd? Had this girl's lifeline come to a steep halt? Or had her death been a shock even to the fates that attempted to foresee such things? Abby's hands were small, the lines shallow, she searched the tiny map there and wondered if it had changed the day that she fled Lansing. Had some tiny atomic shift appeared, too minute for her eyes to see?

  She looked up at Sebastian then, his blue eyes stuck to hers for a split second before she broke away. She knew that she should speak, say something witty, but her mouth felt papery. She opted for another sip of wine, swishing it over her gums before she swallowed.

  A sprinkling of boat lights flickered distantly in the lake. As a child, Sydney had often taken Abby on the lake at night. They crept out while Sydney's husband slept, blankets wrapped tight around their shoulders. Sydney liked the speedboat because it had a large, wrap-around bow with cushy seats, and would bring a bottle of wine for herself and a bottle of carbonated apple juice for Abby. They drank directly from the bottles and shined flashlights into the water in search of fish.

  "Have you flown the coop?" Sebastian asked, pulling Abby from her thoughts.

  "The coop?" She blinked hard, rubbing away the memories.

  "Here, now, your body?"

  "I would if I could."

  "Feel like sharing?" He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to the side.

  She watched the curve of his lips as he smiled. He had nice, full lips, and she lifted a finger to her own self-consciously.

  "Perhaps, in a while."

  He nodded and then a look of inspiration marked his gaze.

  "I know what we need." He stood and slipped into the house. She watched his back as he disappeared through the glass door.

  She felt a pang of guilt at the rumblings of desire he inspired. As though even her thoughts were monitored and policed, the sanctuary of her brain just another space for control. She had no cause for guilt, she'd done nothing, but she found him alluring, a mysterious attraction that buzzed in the back of her mind. The realization sent another shiver down her spine and the flesh of her arms prickled. It was not simply his looks, though he was quite a sight, the desire laid more in his freedom. He moved like a man that did and said and thought whatever he pleased. No internal mechanism clamped down on his brain, no alarm system screeched that his actions were rebellious.

  The low sound of Billie Holiday's scratchy voice crawled out the door as Sebastian returned to the porch, his arms piled with votive candles. He laid them across the table, quickly lighting them all with a single match.

  "Don't worry," he said quickly at the surprised look on her face. "It's all about setting, I'm not trying to take your clothes off."

  She laughed uncomfortably and took another sip of wine.

  "How about a dance? Something to ease your troubles." He held out his hand.

  She stared for a moment, incredulous at his offer. Dance? Could she dance? As she mulled over the possibility, the absurdity of her hesitation struck her. She had packed up and left her whole life, how could she fear a dance?

  She thrust her sweaty palm into his, and he pulled her from her seat, keeping her at a safe distance. She felt the stiffness of her posture, obvious against his graceful sway, a piece of plywood to his silk sheet.

  His warm hands snaked through her fingers, and she struggled to squeeze tighter. He stood a foot taller than her, staring out at the black night, while she snuck glances at his face. When she'd met him the day before, he'd intimidated her. Not because he behaved arrogantly or with condescension. No, it stemmed from his singleness. He acted as if he belonged only to himself and that no other factor, familial or societal, swayed his choices. There were physical things, too. Abby had grown accustomed to Nick, who wore pleated slacks and button down shirts, even while watching television. Sebastian, on the other hand, was logging day two in his ratty t-shirt and ripped jeans. His hair was uncombed, his face rough with stubble and his eyes like brilliant blue orbs that folded back her flesh and peered far beyond the blood and bone of her body.

  "So, this has been like the vacation from Hell for you, huh?" He broke the silence.

  "Vacation?"

  "Aren't you on vacation?"

  Ha, vacation! She laughed aloud at the idea and then shook her head firmly.

  "This is not a vacation for me," she told him, pulling away and stuffing her hands into her pockets. "This is a..."

  "Sabbatical? Leave of absence? Soul searching expedition?"

  She laughed and nodded, appreciating his humor and his company more than she could tell him.

  "All of the above and, after today, none of the above."

  He nodded and his smile faded, both of their thoughts drifting to death, to the girl.

  "It feels bad to laugh," she said quietly.

  He sighed and closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, they looked far away, the pupils receding to tiny points.

  "Are you okay?" she asked.

  He forced a smile, a weak one.

  "Are we ever okay?"

  How true. She didn't feel okay, she felt confused and lost. She wanted to confide in Sebastian, to tell him everything and let him pass some kind of judgment on her, but that was old Abby. The Abby that needed approval and direction, this one was fighting hard to keep it all between her own two ears.

  "Where is home, Abby?" he asked suddenly.

  "Lansing. Ever been there?"

  He grimaced. Obviously, he'd been there.

  "Passed through a few times, lots of shopping centers."

  "Yes, so you can see why I'd rather be here instead."

  "Easily, but I still don't understand."

  She chewed her lip and tried to imagine a glamorous way to describe abandoning her life.

  "Well, I kind of ran away." The words flopped out lifelessly, and she immediately regretted them, how juvenile they sounded. "I ran away from my life. It was suffocating me. My boyfriend, my parents, my job... I kept having this nightmare that I was really old, living in my parents' house and sewing booties for Nick's and my prize schnauzers."

  He laughed, holding up his hand to stop her.

  "I'm sorry, it's not funny, but really? Booties for schnauzers? I would have left too."

  "Yeah, well, the booties were the least of it."

  "Was that him tonight on the phone, Nick?"

  "Yeah," Abby sighed, vaguely guilty. "I haven't talked to him yet, weird, huh?"

  "Weird is my calling card," Sebastian said, craning his neck back to look at the stars. "Maybe they led you here."

  Abby looked up. "The stars?"

  "Sure, paths laid out celestially and all that."

  Abby cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you serious?"

  "Nah," he shook his head and wandered off the porch, kicking his sandals off at the edge of the grass where the yard ended and the beach began.

  She nodded, wondering if her reaction had upset him.

  They walked toward the lake. Her bare feet sank into the dewy grass that poked between her toes. She thought about continuing, purging herself of the gory details of her departure, but found the silence comforting. How nice to walk alone with a man and not feel the pressure to make idle small talk.

  Though Sydney's house stood on a peninsula, to the east her beach gave way to a several mile expanse of public beach rarely occupied. Behind the beach lay the thick expanse of forest that Abby had wandered only that morning. If they walked far enough along the sandy shore, they could turn into the trees and return to the site of the body. Not that she wanted to; of course not, but... something gnawed there, some pull. Probably just another macabre fantasy, the attraction to a scene of horror, like vultures to road kill.

  Together they walked, their feet sinking into the soft, floury sand, still warm from the sun. It felt good to Abby, barefoot, the nearly full moon casting a tunnel of light around them. They might have been lovers on vacation or two strangers finding each other on a seaside walk. His closeness, as they moved, felt deliberate, their arms occasionally brushing and send
ing sporadic flutters of anxiety along Abby's spine.

  Normally, she would have talked. Her fear of silence so encompassing that she might have blabbed until she ran out of words in the English language, but instead the silence felt good, too good. In the past, she rarely pursued romantic notions like soul mates or love at first sight, but Sebastian triggered all of these sentiments within her. Not speaking felt like a small step in preserving the moment, encapsulating it by the shroud of silence that acted like a shield around them.

  The water drifted lazily like a ribbon undulating along the beach's edge. It played with their toes as they sank into the mushy wetness, pulling away with clumps of sand caked along their feet.

  Abby's mind wandered, and she fought back the needling thoughts of her abandoned life, but could not stave off the images of the girl. The girl, the girl, like a thunderstorm hovering over her, electric and frightening and enticing all at once.

  "What do you think we should do?" Abby asked.

  "About what?"

  "The dead girl."

  Sebastian paused and stared out at the lake. Abby followed his gaze to the invisible horizon.

  "What do you want to do?"

  She didn't know, but something. She did not feel like a random witness who'd discovered a body. The events of the morning, now seemingly light years away, filled the rooms of her mind. Every door swung open to that patch of woods, to that white naked flesh, to the swirls of red hair.

  "Anything, something. I mean, right?"

  He looked at her, his eyes bore into her, and he seemed to be contemplating her question very seriously.

  "Investigate?" he asked, pulling his feet from the sand and continuing down the beach.